The Evils Men Do
by Plywood Fiend
Summary: Formerly 'Second Hero of Neverwinter'. The plot's changed a bit. Post HOTU A young adventurer stumbles into Neverwinter and soon finds himself the unwilling slave of Aribeth de Tylmerande, who has new ambitions of revenge against the city.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all, ****this story is based loosely off one of the epilogues which come at the end of Hordes of the Underdark, specifically one which is likely to occur for evil characters. My knowledge of the Forgotten Realms, or if that's even the right name, is far from perfect so if you notice any glaring errors in the story then please feel free to point them out.**

**Beyond that, I hope you enjoy. For the record Neverwinter Nights is the property of bioware... or someone. Not my best disclaimer, ah well.**

**The Second Hero of Neverwinter**

**Chapter 1**

"You have no strength about you little flesh-man. You are not worthy to add to the skins of Caivanlang the Many."

"Now that is truly a tragedy." Darras replied, making a valiant effort to sound confident. It was not easy, and he doubted the demon was impressed by his efforts.

"I shall not even acknowledge this tiny Elvan thing you travel with. It is not even worthy to serve as one of my skeletal slaves."

Isania smiled and plucked an arrow from the quiver on her back.

"Don't let him fool you." She said quietly, "This creature appears to judge others by strength and girth alone. I can't imagine he's that smart."

"Ok." Darras replied, lifting his two bladed sword to guard his chest.

"He's strong, but he doesn't look smart. I doubt he could find his buttocks without a map."

"Which one? He's got five at least."

Caivanlang the Many was so named for the multitude of body parts that had been crudely stitched together to form his body. He either didn't know or didn't care what such pieces were or where they went however. Hands stuck out of the creature's knees. Ears coated his right cheek. There was a leg protruding from his throat. There was only one head though, it didn't belong to any species that either of them recognised but it didn't take a genius to know that this was yet another demon, or something similarly depraved, come to enjoy his new found freedom on the Prime.

"You're not the first to think they could best us creature!" Isania shouted to the abomination before her as she readied an arrow.

"I shall be the last."

"Oh there's an original retort," Darras said, "Which 2nd rate novel did you claw that from?"

"You dare mock me?!" Caivanlang hissed, the nineteen arms along it's spine bristled.

"Of course we dare you cadaverous git!" Darras shouted back, "What did you expect?"

"Enough!" It shouted, "I have let you bask in my glorious presence long enough. Die now flesh-things, and be grateful."

The demon tore at its own gut with five clawed hands. As he ripped the dead flesh and muscle away, four sword wielding skeletons fell from his patchwork gut to the ground.

"Pull back," Isania said, "Let them come to us."

The two of them stepped backwards several paces while the skeletons pulled themselves off of the floor. Isania let fly one of her lightning arrows, striking one of the un-dead skulls. The head was torn off but the creature seemed none the worse for wear because of it.

"He's a more competent necromancer then I thought." She said, "We're going to have to tear them apart."

"Right." Darras said, tightening his grip on his sword.

As the shambling creatures edged slowly towards the two adventurers, Isania began reciting the incantation for a fireball spell. Darras flicked his eyes between the skeletons and the expanding ball of fire between his mentor's hands before it shot off towards the enemy, detonating as soon as it struck one of the skeletons in the neck. The beast was blasted to pieces, the headless one fell to the floor, now utterly lifeless. The rest, though somewhat crispy continued to bear down on them. Their pace was increasing and their swords were raised and ready to be buried into living flesh.

"Let us be done with these nuisances," Isania said, readying another arrow, "and then let's kill this disgusting wretch."

"Gladly."

Darras stepped quickly towards the closest of the skeletons. The creature raised its sword over it's head, trying for a quick killing blow to the brain. With no muscles nor blood to power the arm however the motion was slow and cumbersome. Darras blocked the attack with little effort. He pushed the enemy's sword away, then swung his own blade through its neck. It stumbled backwards as its head fell from its shoulders, then collapsed altogether as the next strike sliced it's spine in two.

Only one left, he turned and saw it stumbling slowly towards Isania, who was casually ripping its limbs off one after the other. Soon the skeleton was hopping towards his target with no arms to attack with.

"This is too easy," He heard Isania say as her final arrow sent what was left of the skeleton falling to the ground.

"Was _that_ the wrath of Caiviava the Mincy?" Darras said, making sure Caivanlang heard him. The demon simply stared at him with disinterested eyes.

"I used to find great amusement in watching my skinless slaves do battle with spindly nothings like yourselves. But it has grown dull. I shall deal with you now myself, and then see if any worthy flesh can be found in your city of Neverwinter."

"You will never see Neverwinter!" Isania shouted, "You will not live to see the next sunrise."

"The sun is not long for this world Elvan fool. You've seen how this world changes. Be glad that you shall not live to see your world as it is taken by my kind."

"Let's be rid of this thing." Darras said, "we're behind schedule as it is."

Isania began preparing another spell. Darras moved back to his discarded pack and pulled out the last remaining fire bomb. Caivanlang's gut was closing, but if he could fling an explosive into his belly, he might get rid of this abomination quickly and painlessly.

A stream of magic missiles flew from Isania's hands. Each one impacted on the various skins of the enemy's chest. On some of his hides they left small scorch marks, in others they left nothing at all.

Darras ran forward as close as he dared and let fly his grenade. The explosive struck high of the mark and bounced off of Caivanlang's chest. It exploded on the floor next to his fourth leg.

"A puny effort."

Isania shot off two arrows in rapid sucession. Two eyes in one of the beast's kneecaps burst open and spewed forth the decayed matter within.

"Is this the best you have to offer."

"Oh shut up you piecemeal windbag!" Darras screamed, stepping towards the demon with his sword at the ready, feeling somewhat more confident now that battle was properly joined, "Can you actually fight? Or do you just throw meaningless insults at your…"

A bolt of pulsating red energy shot forth from Caivanlang's mouth, it tore through the air with a ear piercing howl. Darras watched it move from between the demons teeth, straight into Isania's chest.

She flew backwards, the bow slipping from her hand. Her limp body hit the dry grass with an audible crash. Her already pale skin now looked grey.

"Does that satisfy?" The gravely voice of Isania's killer asked, "A suitable insult, little thin-fleshed man?"

What happened next he didn't remember so well. There was his sword and there was the meat he cut with it. He remembered the sound of his own screaming, manic and bloodthirsty, and he remembered how when he had slashed one piece of skin to ribbons, Caivanlang fell or shifted a little more and brought new bits of meat to beat. He slashed off arms, legs, shoulders, shins, anything that was in front of him. The demon cut at him, swatted him away with clawed limbs and shot at him with the same kind of infernal energy that had felled Isania. But though he was no longer thinking with a rational mind, what was left was apparently sufficient to keep himself alive. He had no healing potions left after the battle, his wand of lightning had turned to dust, and he had apparently managed to dodge the magic and keep coming back to tear at more and more pieces of Caivanlang because at the end of it all, after however long it took for him to start thinking and remembering things again, what he found was a dead demon with more cuts in it then he could count. Arms and legs and other bits were strewn about his body. Fortunately it didn't look like any were his.

_Isania._

With that one word, fear overtook him, and seeking out the place where she had fallen, he found her outstretched and shivering on the ground.

She was still alive.

"Are you alright?" He asked, falling to his knees beside her. Stupid question, of course she wasn't alright. Her skin was as grey as a zombie's. She needed a priest, or something.

"343, 343 years of, of standing against, evil." Her voice was little more then a whisper, her eyes fixed to the red tinted clouds overhead, "I don't, want it to end like this Darras."

"It won't end like this." Darras said, tearing through his pack and then Isania's to find a healing kit or a suitable potion.

"No," she breathed, "I'm done for."

"You're not done for!" He shouted, tears streaming from his eyes, "I won't let you die like this. I'll get you to Neverwinter and I'll take you to someone who can help."

"Listen to me."

"Just hang on, stay with me." He placed his left arm gently under her neck.

"When you get to Neverwinter," she continued speaking as Darras lifted her over his shoulder, leaving both their packs behind and stopping to retrieve only his sword. He'd need it if they ran into something else. "Seek out, an elf named Sarir, Sarir Tre'vaiar. Tell him you were my apprentice. He'll finish what I started.

"It won't come to that."

"Say his name, repeat my instructions."

"It won't come to…"

"Darras! Do it."

"Sarir Tevir, tell him you sent me."

Isania almost laughed.

"Close enough."

"Just hang in there. Stay awake."

"I'm not sure I can."

"Just try."

"You know, you're starting to sound like me."

"Helm's patience," he said, trying to force a smile that neither of them could see, "That is not good."

"I want you to know…"

"No, don't say it."

"I'm proud of you. I think you might just make it."

The tears that had been threatening to emerge from Darras' eyes finally showed themselves. He had no spare hand to wipe them away and so they blurred his vision, forcing him to slow his pace.

He walked for two miles before he realised that Isania had stopped breathing.

"Not a problem." He said, "I'll get you to Neverwinter and get you raised. But, but I need to stop for a minute, ok? Just to catch my breath. Dry my eyes, ok?"

He placed her body down gently on the grass, and then collapsed next to it. The roads were no place to break down and sob but Darras could do nothing else. First came the tears, then he threw up.

Almost miraculously, nothing chose to disturb him. Eventually he placed Isania back over his shoulders and continued walking. Neverwinter's walls were almost in sight now.

* * *

"Halt! Stay where you are or you will be put down by archers. Do you understand."

Darras didn't respond, instead he stared intently at the patterns on the city gate's elaborate knocker.

"I said do you understand?" The militiaman on the wall above shouted to him.

"I understand." He muttered finally.

"State your name, business and place of origin."

"My name is Darras Waynolt. My friend and I have travelled here from Port Llast, right now my business is getting my friend back from the dead."

"And after that?" The voice on the wall asked.

"Sanctuary."

The head peering at Darras over the wall vanished and there was some indecipherable murmuring from above for a few moments before it reappeared.

"Be prepared to surrender all your weapons and gear upon entering the city. You will be searched and examined by a cleric of Tyr, if no infernal taint or trace of evil is found lingering within you then we shall permit you to enter Neverwinter, tend to your friend if we can, and return your gear. Any violent action shall result in your death. Do you understand?"

"I understand." Darras replied, looking up as far as the body over his shoulders would allow, "Let's just get this done with."

The head disappeared again, and for minutes nothing happened. He almost thought that they'd decided not to let him in after all but eventually the large oak gates creaked open.

Two large armoured figures were waiting inside the gate for him. One held out a hand to take his sword from him, the other helped him carry Isania to a nearby robed figure, who looked at her like she was a severed finger in his underwear drawer.

"Your dagger." The second guard said to him. Darras stare blankly at him for a few seconds before realising that the small knife he carried was still attached to his belt. He removed the weapon and handed it over.

"I think I left the rest of it on the road." He said, though apparently this reassurance was not satisfactory as he still ended up getting patted down to make sure he wasn't concealing something to level the city with under his vest.

"The boy is not a threat to the city." The cleric said, having apparently done what divination rituals he was going to, "but this elf, she has been touched by fell energies. It looks like she has been dead for hours, the infernal influence has already spread throughout her body, there is nothing here fit for her soul to return to. It is with whichever God or Goddess would have it, now."

Darras hadn't let himself even consider that he might hear these words as he had carried Isania to Neverwinter. This couldn't be right.

"How is it you can do nothing?" He asked, trying not to shout, "can't you purge whatever crap she'd been infected with?"

"Keep a civil tongue while addressing a servant of the Just God, boy!"

"Answer my question or you'll find yourself missing a head!"

"Easy." The guard who had taken his sword said, placing one hand on Darras' shoulder, "Firlo, answer the man's question."

"Very well, if you must know to cleanse her body of the foul taint within, I would also burn away most of her internal organs. If I were then to revive her she would not survive a minute. Does this answer satisfy?"

Darras didn't remember what happened after that too well either. This revelation that Isania was truly and irreversibly dead forced whatever energy he had left away. The least thing he remembered before waking up within Neverwinter's walls was the stone floor rushing forth to meet him as he passed out.

**To be ****continued. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Greetings again, wow, a second chapter. It's been quite a while since I managed one of these for a story. Normally I lose interest despite all efforts to the contrary. Ah well, thanks to just-passing-time for reviewing, ****soon I shall return the favour. **

P.S. A word of warning to anyone who cares, the tone of this story will get progressively darker, I may have to up the rating soon. 

**Chapter 2**

For the first time in almost three years, Darras woke to find himself in a soft bed in a warm room. During his travels with Isania she had always insisted on sleeping outside, she was always one for the natural world's beauty and seemingly oblivious to the cold and incessant onslaught from mosquitoes and midges.

All that hadn't been so long ago, Back before demons started walking the streets. Back before they had to start sleeping in shifts within tree hollows and caves.

_Gods, what had happened to the world?_

The pain of Isania's loss was still very fresh in Darras' mind, just remembering her caused the tears to trickle down his cheeks. He cried for five minutes before even realising he was doing so. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but he still felt exhausted. He couldn't summon the energy to do anything except close his eyes again.

"Hey!" Someone shouted from one of the room's many shadows. Looking around, and finally wiping the tears away, Darras noticed a young blonde woman standing by a doorway.

"This is a hospital," She continued, "not an inn. You've slept away half the day already."

"Where am I?" He husked, speaking was hard with his throat as sore as it had apparently become.

"You're in the Hall of Justice." She said, "Gate Captain Thurn brought you here after you collapsed. You weren't seriously hurt, just in need of rest."

"I see. Thank you."

"Yes, well, I don't mean to be rude but if you're well enough to stand then we'd ask that you leave quickly. We are never short of wounded here, but we're always short of beds."

"Oh, ok, right. I'll get going soon." He pushed himself upwards to a seated position and groaned as his dehydrated head responded with an outraged stab of pain.

"I'll get you some water." The young cleric said, "Your clothes and gear are in the chest at the end of the bed."

"Thanks."

Sure enough, all his gear was accounted for. Sword, knife, clothes and a small amulet that Isania had gifted to him once. He'd probably have to sell something for food, seeing as he'd left all his money behind him.

But that could wait. He needed to get dressed before the cleric returned. Taking his green shirt and trousers from the chest, noticing that both were due for a wash as he did so, Darras dressed himself and was midway through inserting himself within his leather armour when there was a knock at the door.

"Are you decent?" It was the cleric. She was back sooner then he'd expected, then again how long did it take to fetch water?

"Yes." He replied.

She entered and set a jar of water down on the table.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

After he had donned his armour, Darras wasted no time in pouring the water down his throat. In his haste some escaped down the side of his face and trickled down his chest. Neither his head nor his throat felt particularly better for it, but if nothing else his skin felt slightly cooler after he had emptied the jug.

"Thirsty?" The young woman asked. Ordinarily Darras would make as witty a reply as he could muster and hope for a laugh or two. Today he could scarcely bring himself to respond to her, though he supposed he should remain polite.

"Yes."

"I heard you were attacked on the road to Neverwinter."

"Yes."

"It's getting harder and harder to travel by road." She said, as if he hadn't figured that out for himself yesterday, "A refugee caravan arrived from Daggerford last week. They were attacked ten times in four days. Only one caravan from eleven made it."

If Isania had heard this she'd probably demand that they gather a ten strong group of mercenaries and comb the road from Neverwinter to Daggerford and back again, dicing any evil creatures they found to avenge the lives lost from that convoy.

"Has Daggerford fallen?" He asked, "Does the city still stand?"

"I don't know." She stared turned her eyes to the floor for a second, then looked back to him, "I doubt it."

Darras pushed out a long breath and sat himself down on the edge of the bed.

"What in the hells has happened to this world?"

She flinched.

"The realms have weathered such storms as this before, and they probably will again someday."

"Such is life." Darras replied, "anyway, you asked me to leave so I'll not take up your space or time. Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome," she replied, her face seemed a little brighter, "I'm sorry if I seem to be pushing you out the door, but, well, times as they are…"

"There are a lot of people who need to be here more then me, I understand."

"Any idea what you'll do?"

"There's someone here who I'm supposed to find." He replied, "No idea where to look for him though, but it's a promise, I guess."

"Is that why you came to Neverwinter?"

"No, actually. I came here simply because my friend wanted to come here. She never told me why."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I'd best be heading off. Thanks again."

"Tyr protect you."

Darras almost smirked, but he managed to keep his features in check. Nowadays the well wishings of clerics and the supposed protection of the good Gods were a little harder to take seriously. Demons were infesting the world all of a sudden after all, towns were being reduced to cinders, society on the whole was collapsing. Still, that wasn't her fault.

He turned back to face her as he reached the doorway. He was getting tired of calling her 'her'.

"I never caught your name." He said.

"Seren." She replied.

"Darras," he said, placing a hand on his chest, "Nice meeting you."

"You too."

* * *

"…And still the fool in the castle sits on his pox riddled arse pretending that everything's as it used to be. Demons are plaguing the countryside. They're destroying shipments of food and other supplies that form the very life blood of this city. If something isn't done to make the roads safe then we'll all be starving within these walls before too long, and that's if we're lucky!"

"We need an army!"

"What about the Tyrists? What've they been doing, or their God for that matter…?"

"…Have abandoned us! We're all doomed!"

"Fool! These beasts can be killed as easy as any other. Give me a sword and I'll…"

"…To Waterdeep!"

There were about fifty people, all of whom were gathered around a Halfling who was himself perched precariously on a small crate. He stood satisfied as each member of the crowd shouted their own sentiments, all of which agreed with his own in some fashion or other.

"If Lord Nasher lived still then things would never have been allowed to get as bad as they have, but this so-called Lord Faio, a successor in the form of a former registrar, he is not fit to rule over a bee hive. We need a true leader in Castle Never. Someone like Asguard Baralus!"

Most, if not all of the crowd cheered their approval. Darras even thought he saw one of the nearby militiamen raise his hand in ascent. As interesting as this all probably was, he didn't have the energy to educate himself on the Neverwinter's political intrigues. There were only two things he wanted, one was to find this Sarir fellow, the other was to eat something. Not necessarily in that order.

Before leaving the Hall of Justice, one of the priests had been kind enough to hand him ten gold. They said it was to tide him over until he could find honest work as an apprentice blacksmith or a chimney sweep or whatever he could find. Neither vocation appealed to him, nor any other really which didn't require a weapon in his hands, but it was a nice gesture nevertheless.

After a few minutes of directionless wandering, Darras stumbled upon a rickety looking wagon which, according to the crudely painted sign was the repository for 'Mrs. Pring's homemade fenberry pies.'

"How much?" He asked the old woman behind the cart, she looked strangely like the madwoman from his old village who had poisoned her neighbour's cat.

"Depends," She said, "It's five gold for a quick push in the alley, or twenty if you want me for the entire night."

Darras tried not to let his abrupt shock register on his face, but the hearty chuckle from Mrs. Pring told him he'd failed.

"Oh lighten up dear. Gets not half dull pushing this bloody thing about day after day. I need the odd joke."

"Fair enough," he replied, managing a weak chuckle of his own.

"It'll be a gold piece a pie," she said, fishing one out of the cart, "They're not very big."

"Neither am I." Darras said, a little surprised at the sudden good humour that this woman had managed to put him in. He had thought such a thing was behind him. It probably wouldn't last.

"Indeed not, skinny wretch. You need at least two pies in your gullet, and then some, otherwise you'll blow away on the next high breeze."

He had to laugh at that.

"Two it is," he said, handing over two gold coins, "thanks."

* * *

"Why am I watching this Val'riscrai?"

"Because you asked to see it, Dread Queen." Came the toneless response from the pale devil standing in the corner of the converted crypt in the Beggar's nest.

Aribeth de Tylmerande turned to glare at him. The creature had his uses but he possessed the social awareness of a brick. That was surprising considering he used to be a major-domo, of sorts, to Mephistopheles himself before the Lord of Cania had gifted him to her as part of his suspiciously generous severance package.

Perhaps it was the apparent downgrade that had made him uppity. A dead elf, on the face of things, was perhaps a little less intimidating then a twenty foot tall Duke of the nine hells. Her new servant just needed to break in to his new surroundings properly. Once she had sufficient minions she would see to it with the aid of a flail.

Val'riscrai sighed and pointed one clawed finger towards the mirror which at that moment was displaying a cheerful looking young lad buying lunch.

"This boy I'll admit doesn't look like much. Truth be told he isn't much at the moment but the potential is there. He could be a formidable force for light or dark, he just needs to be pushed in one direction or the other."

"This spindly whelp doesn't look fit to be my footstool, what makes him so different from any other lumbering human male?"

"He doesn't just carry that fancy sword of his around to please the ladies. He's been trained, albeit partly, by one of the Owls of Evereska. I'd assume you've heard of them?"

Aribeth snorted. The Owls of Evereska were yet another in too long a line of blustering adventurers supposedly 'striking back at the darkness'. Now they were mostly all dead to the best of her knowledge. After they'd disbanded after two centuries of meaningless self righteous foolery they were picked off one by one by the innumerable enemies they'd gathered.

"Does one of the Owls travel with him?" She asked, "That might be a prey worth hunting."

"No, my Queen, I'm afraid not. This boy's mentor perished on the road to Neverwinter at the hands of a… something. I'm not sure what exactly. A beast from some corner of the Abyss or other. Yet he killed it almost single-handedly."

"Are you trying to undermine me by persuading me to recruit green children?"

"I can summon what I saw of the battle for you to behold if you wish my Queen."

She stared at his featureless white face and found no hints of deceit there.

"Later, perhaps." She said, "I trust he's not a local boy."

"No mistress, he's from the village known as Hilltop. Or the village that was known as hilltop before Dreadlord Waynolt's forces burned it down."

"Good, I'd not accept a Neverwinteran into my service."

She continued to stare at Darras in the mirror who now seemed to be having trouble trying to shoo away a cat that was yowling after his food. Tedious creatures these city dwellers, all of them. Soon she'd fix that. Soon the people would have a name to put next to the plague of calamities and misery that had been inflicted upon them. Soon all of Neverwinter would know that Lady Aribeth the Betrayer had returned to punish them anew for their crimes.

"I should warn you Dread Queen, if this creature does choose to work against us, he could, well, cause us unnecessary delay, to put it mildly."

"Us? Us?! If this human chooses to stand against me then I shall crush him under my heel. If he tries to interfere with my plans then I'll feed him the ghastly ooze from his own entrails."

"Forgive my careless words mistress." Val'riscrai said, "But might I suggest that if you choose to recruit or crush this boy, that you do it quickly, before he has a chance to inconvenience you with his bumbling adventure lust."

Aribeth considered her options for a few seconds, until her train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt by Fay who had fallen into another crying fit. Insufferable girl. She knew the price of annoying her host. Moving to the wall opposite her, where Fay's mother was held by chains in the same way as her daughter, Aribeth drew her dagger and quickly slashed it across the woman's arm. This brought out an anguished cry from the woman, Cina, who now had a rather nasty cut in her arm. It also brought out a concerned if muffled squeal from Fay. For the sake of her own sanity, Aribeth had had her gagged a week ago. There were only so many cries of 'Please, let us go' and 'Stay away from her' that she could stomach.

"Very well." She said finally, wiping the blood from her dagger, "Bring the boy to me and I'll see where my whims take me. If he behaves then maybe I'll give him Fay to play with."

Another muffled squeak.

"Your generosity is everything it is reputed to be Dread Queen. I shall summon this Darras before you with all speed."

**To be continued.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again to just passing time for reviewing. Admitedly parts of this chapter ended up looking a bit similar to parts of your 'The Gods Hate Me' when I read them, this is only in terms of tone and I'm pretty sure it's sufficiently different, but if you think any bits are too similar then let me know and i'll edit accordingly.**

**Anyhoo, onwards and this way.**

**Chapter 3**

The Moonstone Mask wasn't quite what Darras was expecting.

He'd thought it would be an inn, just like any other. Judging from the numerous jovial looking men with beer-soaked beards and scantily clad women stood nearby who were counting the coins they had been handed and laughing practiced laughs at whatever anecdotes they were coming out with, he was in fact in a brothel.

Darras was all of twenty years old, but he abruptly felt like an eleven year old who'd stumbled upon an orgy. Bit of an overreaction perhaps but it was still awkward.

"Hey! Watch where you're going with that thing. You nearly poked my eye out!"

"What?"

The large weapon strapped to his back had apparently had a minor altercation with a nearby dwarf. The man gave him an unpleasant glare before moving off a few paces.

"Sorry." Darras called after him.

"We don't allow weapons in here lad." A large Half Ork bouncer said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry." He said, "I'll leave."

"No need to leave, you can hand your weapon to Torgo behind the bar and take it back when you're done."

"That's alright, I, I think I took a wrong turn anyway. I was just looking for an inn."

"Ha, ha, ha!" The man's laugh sounded like kegs in a distillery exploding, "Come to spill your first semen and getting cold feet at the door. Come back when you've got a few ales in you boy. Just don't get stupid when drunk or I'll snap you in half."

Darras didn't respond to that, he just turned around and left. When he was outside he felt a need to sit down. That was not his proudest moment. If Isania were there she'd probably spend the next hour laughing unashamedly at him. But, as it was, she wasn't. Leaving him alone to bear the weight of his embarrassment with an added note of sorrow.

But she wouldn't have him sitting idle and staring gloomily at the clouds. He still had an elusive bloke with a last name he couldn't remember to find.

Elves sounded like the obvious people to ask. 'Sarir' sounded Elvish, kind of. He'd noticed two Elves during his mindless wandering through the streets. There didn't seem to be that many of them, maybe they kept a close knit community of sorts.

Only one way to find out, Darras pushed himself up and started wandering once more. Now that he actually needed to find one though, the Elves of Neverwinter all seemed to have vanished.

It took him little under an hour to find one. By the looks of her she was one of the city's nobles and at the sight of being addressed by an unwashed human with dirt under his fingernails and a sword on his back she immediately called the closest militiaman and proclaimed that she was the victim of attempted banditry and general uncouthness. Thankfully the militiaman seemed to have had dealings with this woman before and let him go on his way with only the question: 'Were you trying to rob this person?' To which he responded 'No', for in truth.

Awkward moments seemed to be hounding him today. Maybe he should take the half Ork's advice and down an ale or two. He wasn't planning to go back to the Moonstone Make afterwards, it was just that the thought of having his thought processes dented with an alcoholic rock seemed pretty tempting considering all that he had to deal with right now.

Once again though, he doubted Isania would approve, and he was keen to conduct himself in such a way that her last words to him, her saying that she was proud of him, wouldn't turn hollow. That didn't mean he could never touch an ale again, far from it. Isania and him could match tankards with half a Dwarvan clan, and on three occasions had done just that. Not while there was work to be done though.

"Excuse me."

The voice startled Darras from his musings, he turned to see a young, long haired gnomish man in a blue tunic. He was looking at Darras in a way that a person might look at a teapot they were thinking about buying.

"Yes?"

"I have to wonder by the look of that sword on your back whether you're a blade for hire, though you look a little young. Mayhap you just pilfered it from your father for an hour or two to threaten the market stall man for selling you dodgy leeks. Or perhaps it's in an attempt to impress a buxom young virgin, or a stocky farm boy, or a ferret. You look like you might have a rodent fetish. Reminds me of the time when…"

_What in the hells was this?_

"Is there something I can do for you?" Darras asked through slightly gritted teeth.

"Oh fine, interrupt me when I was just about to tell you a riveting tale about… Oooh, that's not a very pleasant look in your eyes. Hmm, very well to business. I represent a number of concerned citizens who, in the absence of any proper leadership at the moment!" He all but shouted that last part, turning angry eyes towards Castle Never, "Have decided to do something about a recent wave of problems that have befallen our fair city ourselves."

"Oh, I see. What manner of problems are these? I haven't really been here long enough to find out."

"A traveller? Truly? In this day and age? Wait, you, you're not trying to seduce me are you? Playing the big hero with sword and a noble tale of demon slaying en-route perhaps…"

"No, I…"

"Because I'm a happily married man I'll have you know."

"I'm not trying to seduce anyone!"

"Oh," He almost sounded disappointed, "Well anyway, our biggest problem is the spontaneous collapse of homesteads. At first we thought it was just some of the older properties giving way due to damp in the rafters, but then some newly built houses in the Peninsula district fell down one after the other, like dominos."

"These houses just collapse on their own?"

"Yep, no warning, no little creaky noises, just a pile of rubble burying some poor family alive."

"Bloody Hells! So you want me to investigate for you? See if there's some nefarious force at work somewhere in the city?"

"Oh good gods no!" The gnome said with a chuckle, "No dear boy, I'd employ you for something more uh, how to phrase this politely? Practical. Something a little less demanding on the old thinking thing in your skull."

"I see." Darras replied, wondering why this annoying creature had told him the tale of buildings collapsing if it had no relevance to what he would employ him for.

"Yes, a more recent problem is a sporadic case of the dead raising from their graves in the Beggar's nest. AGAIN! It's not too big a problem so far, just a few skeletons roaming about around the Great Graveyard. A zombie or two too, but we'd like to keep the problem contained, lest it balloon into something drastic. We've set up a bounty of sorts, for every skeletal knuckle you bring to us we'll pay you fifty gold."

Darras' eyes couldn't help but light up at the prospect. This seemed a relatively painless way to get some money together, which would help him get himself back on his feet eventually. This is something he'd need to do whether he found this Sarir or not.

"That sounds like something I can certainly help with." He said.

"Good lad, just keep in mind that there'll be militia forces on patrol as well. Not quite so many as most are busy dealing with the Ork raids out on the Western road. Lot of houses near there. We tried to move the people inside the city but who wants to live in a place where houses keep collapsing? But anyway, the militia'll be looking to make sure no sneaky gits try and cheat by digging up bodies."

"I wasn't planning on…"

"Some people will do anything to line their britches with coin. My Great God Uncle Biro 'Shoelace' Flil was…"

"Shoelace?"

"Oh never mind that. There's no time for stories now. Don't try and prise a tale out of me you interrogative youth."

"I…"

"So, do we have a deal?"

"I suppose." Darras said, trying to remember what exactly he'd agreed to while trying to figure out how anyone would gain the name 'Shoelace', "Who do I go to collect?"

"Take all body bits to the on duty graveyard attendant. We've given them a dowry to work with. Dowry? Is that the word? I'll have to look that up when I get home. Right, well if there's nothing else I'll be off. Lots of mercenaries to gather you understand. Auf Weiderbye."

Auf weider what?

Though this meeting certainly added to Darras' string of freakish experiences, he couldn't help but feel a little better. One, this was a quest which if somewhat simple, was still something Isania would approve of. A chance to do a good deed and help out a city in distress. That gold would also make him feel a lot better about his current situation then the eight coins he had left. Assuming of course that he was able to kill any zombies.

The undead themselves didn't give him much pause. In truth he'd fought little else during his three year adventuring career. Isania and him were often putting down fledging necromancers. There was always one in any community. Normally they were socially inept wizards with megalomaniacal tendencies which were not equalled by their abilities. Sometimes they hadn't even needed to kill them, they just gave them a jolly good talking to and sent them home with no supper. One would-be Dreadlord of Nashkell had even wanted to join their party after they had defeated him and his seven strong army of undead bats.

One lesser known fact about adventuring was how absurd it sometimes was. The foibles of mortals could sometimes turn even the most serious of quests silly.

There was little reason to hang around. The sun would be setting soon, it seemed to be setting earlier these days, but then that was December for you. In any case, there were likely to be more undead about during the dark hours, and hopefully if he went now he could maybe find another mercenary or two to join up with. Lone warriors rarely fared well he had discovered, unless of course they formed the ranks of the quasi-mystic heroes of grand tales that encouraged scores of idealistic children to charge out into the world with their mother's kitchen knife and get diced…

Gods, what was wrong with him today? He couldn't go four minutes it seemed without getting lost in inane thoughts. It was time to focus on matters at hand.

One slight problem, where exactly was the Beggar's Nest?

"Pardon me young man?"

_Helm's patience, now what?_

Darras turned and saw the unhappy features of an old woman staring at him. Her voice was little above a whisper.

"Yes?" He asked, "Something I can do for you?"

"I couldn't help but overhear your discussion with that strange little man earlier. You're going to go help keep the restless bodies in the graveyard in check yes?"

"Yes."

"In that case I'd like you to have something." She reached into the depths of her shawl and pulled out a pair of leather bracers. She all but shoved them into Darras' nose.

"These belonged to my son," She said , "sort of a family heirloom. Passed down from father to son for five generations, all of them were soldiers or guardsmen. My son was… unlucky." She paused and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I'm too old to have any more sons. So I'd like to pass these on to someone who might make use of them."

With surprising force, she thrust the bracers into Darras' left hand.

"Erm, not to sound ungrateful," He stuttered, "but are you sure you want to part with these. Shouldn't you keep them to remind you of, of your son maybe?"

"If I needed these to remember my son what kind of mother could I have been? No, all these things do is remind me that he's dead. But you kind of remind me of him. Your eyes are the same. He stuttered a lot too."

He smiled, but not too much. This still didn't feel right, but the woman was already moving away.

"If you're absolutely sure." He said, "You don't want to sell them? You could probably get a few coins out of…"

"More then a few." She said, "There's magic in those bracers. Helps keep the shivers in check in a fight, or something like that. Course I'd never hear the end of it from my husband if I sold them. Even with times as bad as they are. No, he'd want someone to take them who'd do something good with them."

He examined the items in his hand. The worn looking leather wrist guards didn't look at all magical. They didn't look all that sturdy either on close inspection. Still, such things often needed to be worn before their effects could be noticed.

"Ok then," He said, pushing out a long breath as if to emphasise the point that he was accepting this gift reluctantly, "rest assured I'll put them to good use."

"You do that lad." She said, "Those undead things were what killed my boy. Make sure you find whoever's taken those bodies out of the grave and put your sword down their throat."

"I will," He said, "thank you."

The woman nodded and walked off. Darras wondered whether he should give her a few coins for food, but had to decide against it. Until he earned some proper money, he couldn't start handing out coins to the needy. She might very well have not been as impoverished as he assumed anyway.

Strapping the bracers to his arms, he did notice that what apprehension he felt about his situation was dulled down considerably. It was also harder to feel the sorrow that had begun to accompany the memory of Isania's face. That was somewhat disturbing. He'd have to remember to take these off as soon as he was done in the Great Graveyard.

Fairly confident that everyone who was going to speak to him had done so, Darras set off to find someone who could point him in the direction of the Beggar's Nest.

**To be Continued**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again just-passing-time for reviewing. Nice to see the attempted humorousness has been successful thus far. That's one thing I liked about Neverwinter Nights and Baldur's Gate, they kept you laughing while still being dramatic and tragic in places. Hopefully I've managed to emulate the other half of the scale a bit with this next chapter.**

**Chapter 4**

The skeleton's head was knocked clean off its shoulders after a hit from Darras' sword. The body tried to swat at him with its claw like fingers, but in the end it failed and fell lifeless on the wet grass.

With barely time to pull in a rushed breath, Darras found himself ducking to avoid a hit from a spiked club that his next assailant had presumably been buried with. The weapon looked as rotted as he did, or was it a she? Either way he dealt with this restless cadaver in much the same way as the last. Isania's tutoring in Elvan swordsmanship had left him disturbingly good at lopping off heads.

He had thought he'd be hard pressed to find a single undead creature to do away with upon reaching the aptly named Great Graveyard, instead there were scores of the things, all of whom seemed to be coming for him. The on duty militia and a well armoured Dwarvan mercenary were attacking the flanks of the undead line that had developed, but for reasons Darras didn't care to consider, they were all single-mindedly focused on killing him.

Another skeleton, another swing and another skull loitering by his feet.

"Keep at it boy! You're doing good." A militia archer shouted helpfully from atop a ten foot high wall. Darras couldn't be sure but he didn't think the man had fired yet.

If he managed to survive the next hour he'd likely have enough fingers to collect several thousand gold pieces. He tried not to let that be too big an incentive as he cut down one shambling cadaver after another.

These undead were what Isania would describe as 'raw.' Their master had not bothered to imbue them with any martial skills or magical defences. These were soil laden bodies, almost all of whom were unarmed. Add to that a number of them were tripping over themselves thanks to rotted clothing catching on their limbs of tenacious lingering ligaments constricting the movement of their limbs.

_Another feeble first year necromancer _Darras thought disdainfully, deciding to punch the already loose skull off of the next skeleton. It hurt more then he expected, a fact he didn't realise until after the deed was done. These infernal bracers must have taken his intelligence down a notch. He was beginning to get an idea just how that poor woman's son had gotten killed.

He found himself growing ever more impatient as the foul smelling remains piled up around him. If this was the level of resistance he could expect then he had good mind to scour the nearby crypts until he found this cowardly necromancer and bury his blade in their throat.

No, no. That was stupid. There could be anything in the crypts. Maybe the necromancer was keeping all their best forces below. Maybe something unrelated and nastier was lingering down there. Either way, charging forth on his own was suicidal. Gods he needed to get these bracers off before he actually did do something stupid.

But there wasn't time for that now. Another skeleton, this one with a sword. With a push forward, Darras brought the handle of his own weapon crashing into the blade of his enemies and pushed it away. He would have finished the beast off with another hit but the Dwarf beat him to it.

"What'd ye do to piss that lot off lad?" She asked.

"I have no idea." Came the honest answer.

"Ah well, makes the axe work easier for me!" She roared, ripping the leg off of the next zombie with an almighty swing of her hammer, allowing Darras to finish it with a quick lunge downwards with his sword.

"Name's Argador." She said, "Argador Blackhammer."

"Darras Waynolt." He replied a little breathlessly. It didn't look much like she was listening to him any more though.

With the introductions concluded, the two continued to tear down the twenty or so undead that remained. When this was done, and the index fingers collected, the bodies were piled together on a stone floor and set alight.

Darras was exhausted, and found he had to slouch down to sit on his legs. The battles themselves hadn't been all too difficult, but he'd had barely a second to catch his breath of shake the tension out of his muscles. The sword in his right hands felt like a weight threatening to pull his arms off.

"Well, I'm off to collect my pennies." Argador said cheerfully, giving Darras a slap on the shoulder that nearly sent him falling flat on his face. "Good killing with ye boy. Even if the foe did line up to die."

"Goodbye." Darras all but wheezed, "We'll have to do this again sometime."

"Aye, if the reward's right. I'd buy ye an ale but you've barely any fuzz on your chin."

People always seemed to think he was underage. It tended to make getting drunk far harder then was fair. In this instance though he wasn't feeling up to it anyway.

Argador set off towards a forlorn looking graveyard keeper who seemed loathed to part with any of the nice shiny coins the citizen defence board or whatever they were calling themselves had handed him.

"_Tired already Darras Waynolt? Just how unhealthy are you?"_

Darras snapped his head around, looking in all directions and finding no one nearby who could have said that to him. The voice was female, and there was something odd about it. Whoever it belonged to however seemed to be hiding. And just how in the hells did she know his name.

"_My viceroy tells me you are worthy of… investment. But after this display I can't say I agree."_

She was speaking in his head. He'd heard this before. Thankfully he could think his responses, rather then having to say them aloud and look like a madman before everyone else in the graveyard.

_"Not impressed?" He 'said', "You think__ that means anything coming from a piss-take witch who can only manage to raise such an embarrassing excuse for an undead horde?"_

A moment's silence. He thought he could sense someone inhaling sharply, but perhaps he had imagined it.

"_A humble first test I'll admit. But don't think for a second that's the limit of my powers."_

"_Oh of course not, no doubt you can even cast magic missile as well hmm?"_

"_Silence."_

"_Oh fuck off. I have better things to do then listen to some cowardly wisp in my head. Why not come out from your hole and let's see what kind of reward I can get for your skull."_

No, hold your tongue fool. You're not strong enough for another fight. Damn these bracers.

"_Why don't you come to me? I await you in the Warrens of the Damned, descend down through one of the larger crypts and you'll reach me."_

"_Thank you." Darras said, standing up, and clearing his throat _"Excuse me sir," He shouted to a militia Captain who was clearing the rotted blood off of a salvageable arrow, "a moment of your time sir, if you please."

"_If you warn them about me, I'll twist the body of your precious Isania into yet another undead servant and set her loose upon the school near the city core."_

Darras froze, and the smug smile he'd managed vanished.

"One minute son." Came the shout from the milita Captain.

"_Think of it, a fresh body, untroubled by rotting or stiffness, already skilled with magic and the sword. An Owl of Evereska no less, and your mentor and friend. Think of her slaughtering innocent children. Think of yourself having to stop her."_

"_Liar." _He said, uncertainty clinging to the word, "_You don't have her body._"

"_It's the body of a stranger young Darras. Not an official, nor a hero nor a noble. Effectively she was just another beggar, and they throw them all down shallow holes in the Great Graveyard. Now she's outstretched before me on my ritual table."_

Darras said nothing, he just stood still with his grip on the sword tightening ever more.

"_If you keep my position secret, I'll give you half an hour to sallie forth, best my minions, slay me and save what's left of your dear mentor. Unless you want to see her up and about again. Maybe you could give her a hand slicing through the school children."_

"Yes," said the militia captain who had appeared in front of Darras, "what can I do for you?"

"_Time to choose."_

"From what I hear Neverwinter's had more then a few problems lately."

"Oh yes, the city's seen better days to be sure, though not for a long while now. Feels like we've been living like this for ever sometimes."

"I know what you mean." He lied, "I was just wondering if there was anything else I could help out with?" Darras said, hoping he'd get turned away and quickly, "something requiring a sword arm?"

"Good lad." The Captain said, clapping him on the arm, "That's the kind of attitude I like to see. Normally I get mercenaries asking me that question and you can hear the gold lust on their tongue. Never mind if people are getting killed or if villages are being razed; where can they make some quick coin? But you, you genuinely sound worried for the people. Tell you what. Get a good night's sleep then come to the Militia HQ tomorrow morning. It's basically an office behind the Hall of Justice in case you don't know. Ask for Captain Hale. I'll find some work for you."

"I'll do that." Darras said, shaking the hand that had been offered. "Thank you sir."

"Thank you lad, Tyr preserve you."

"And you."

The Captain walked off towards the gate. Darras watched him leave in the corner of his eye, and when he was gone he looked around the graveyard. Two more militia officers were staring at the sun as it descended behind the city wall. The grave keeper was busy pocketing gold pieces while he could, and Argador was long since gone.

Trying not to think about how much time he'd wasted, Darras sought out the closest crypt and charged towards it.

* * *

"An excellent display of manipulation Dread Queen." Val'riscrai said to the grinning Aribeth, "That gullible fool will fling himself into your grasp in a matter of moments."

In the mirror, the two could clearly see Darras hacking his way through cobwebs and the one token skeleton that blocked the path down to the Warrens. It was purely by chance that he had picked a correct path. No end of tunnels from the old crypts led to dead ends, cave ins or some manner of secluded creature best left undisturbed. It hadn't really mattered, for once he'd worked himself ragged she could collect him with ease, no matter where he lost himself. Granted she could probably do it herself now, but if they were forced to fight, she might end up killing him and who knew, he might make a decent slave after all.

"What actually did happen with Isania's body?"

"I believe the Tyrists had it burned my Lady."

She nodded, that was standard practice when she was Tyr's servant. Anyone with a trace of dark energies in their fallen body was considered a threat, and paranoid security measures ensured that their remains were not only burned but utterly annihilated. She was looking forward to seeing Darras' face when he found out.

* * *

Darkness stretched out as far as Darras could see. The tunnel was too short by far, not to mention too narrow. What air there was felt musty and cold and he found himself stopping to cough with increasing frequency.

He didn't have time for this. If he didn't get to Isania soon then the necromancer bitch would start weaving magics. Perhaps she had already.

He pushed on a little further, running into yet another cobweb. The rather large, though harmless spider it belonged to clambered onto his back as he pushed his way through the mesh of sticky matter. He couldn't use his sword here. He had to drag the damn thing behind him as he crawled through this damn slit in the bloody wall.

Darras slammed an angry fist into the wall, breaking two of his fingers and dropping his sword as he cradled his now bloodied hand.

"Stupid bastard"" He shouted, "You stupid bastard!"

Abruptly he was back on his knees and weeping again. The outraged fury that had returned the strength to his muscles was ebbing away.

"No, I won't fail Isania. Not again, not if..."

He stumbled as he tried to push himself to his feet. His vision became blurry and he had to go back down. As dark as the passage was, it now felt darker. The air harder to breathe.

_What in the hells am I going to do?_

That was his last rational thought before he fell unconscious on the dusty stone floor.

Not ten minutes later, four skeletons from Aribeth's legion of undead minions arrived to collect him.

**To be continued.**

**For the record the rating will probably be going up with the next chapter, so the story will probably turn invisible.**


	5. Chapter 5

**That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be actually. I think I'll leave the rating as is for now.**

**Chapter 5**

Though he was injured, Darras' exhausted body still slept for twelve solid hours. Upon waking the first the he noticed was that the cold dusty air was the same as it had been in the tunnel where he'd collapsed. That, he thought before his vision became less blurred, was a good thing. The next thing he noticed was numbness in the two fingers he'd smashed into the wall.

His head was throbbing once again, and his legs felt ready to give out. What in Sehanine's name had he done to himself?

He tried to move his undamaged hand to cradle the injured one, but his arm was stopped short by something around his wrist. There was a clang of metal on stone, and he realised for the first time that he was standing up.

He blinked three times in rapid succession and in squinting against the darkness, he could make out two figures not too far away. He couldn't make out any specific details, but he was almost sure they were staring at him.

"Finally." Someone said, it was a male voice, it sounded kind of like a goblin's but the person who'd uttered it was far too tall. "I thought you were going to sleep till you died of thirst."

"Hold your tongue Val'riscrai," A second voice, the voice that had spoken to him inside his head earlier now said aloud, "this human is no longer your concern. Leave us."

Realisation hit Darras like a bucket of ice water. He parted with a pained gasp before managing to clamp his mouth closed.

"As you command Dread Queen." The first voice said, and then a series of echoing footfalls sounded as the creature left the room.

Resisting the urge to close his eyes, Darras focused as hard as he could manage on the remaining figure. It was an elf, of all things. A woman, but there was something off about her, she looked dimmer then she should, almost transparent.

Maybe he'd taken a blow to the head when he fell.

"So," she said with a rather unpleasant lightness in her echoing voice "your valiant rescue attempt consisted of charging down a narrow tunnel and then passing out. Isania would be proud, I'm sure."

Darras' drooped head shot up at the mention of her name. He'd forgotten that this woman, whoever she was, had stolen his friend's body.

"Wha-" That was as far as he got before the dust lingering in his throat forced him to cough violently, his head responded to this with an increased throbbing.

"What have I done with her?" The woman asked, "I doubt you're going to finish your question so I'll have to assume that's what you said. Well, to tell the truth there isn't much of her body left to do anything with. Seems the Tyrists had it incinerated when they discovered the fell energies within."

Darras could barely form any reaction to this news while his head was still screaming in protest at the slightest of motions. When he stopped coughing, he could barely bring himself to register the tiniest flicker of disbelief or confusion.

"You're no good to me like this." His captor said, "One moment."

She started uttering a series of incantations. They sounded familiar, but Darras had never memorised any of them. He expected that she was going to electrocute him into lucidity.

Instead a wave of healing energies passed through him. His headache vanished, the weakness in his legs subsided and his throat felt less sore. He also found it easier to concentrate.

The woman, who he could now see more clearly now, was a ghost. Yet another bloody damned soul returning from the depths of the Hells to plague Faerun. The room he was in was sparse to say the least. It looked like a crypt, but there was no stench of death about the place. Perhaps it was new.

"Feeling better?" She crooned. He said nothing.

She took a few steps towards him. On the face of it, there was little about this woman save for her obsidian armour that looked particularly menacing, she was easily as lanky as Darras and almost a head shorter. There was also a strange kind of gentleness in her features that looked at odds with the skull emblems on her shoulders. At the end of the day though, she had Darras chained to a dungeon wall. That alone made her an intimidating prospect if not an intimidating sight.

"Allow me to introduce myself," She said, straightening her back, "I am Aribeth de Tylmerande. Blackguard and Dread Queen of Neverwinter."

"Getting a bit ahead of yourself aren't you?" Darras replied, not really listening to the name, though it did sound kind of familiar, but that hardly mattered now. In any case, he was finding it hard to resist the urge to taunt an enemy despite his precarious position. "Queen's, as a rule, don't typically rule from an empty crypt. To that end, Queens normally rule the place they claim, rather then just saying they do."

"Fool!" She snapped, "Did you not listen to the panic stricken masses while you flailed through the streets?

"I saw people getting on with their lives," Darras responded, almost truthfully, "and complaining about some local Lord they don't like." He then conceded.

Aribeth smiled.

"Lord Faio. Successor to Lord Nasher who _tragically _lost his life in a fire at his private retreat in the country." She sniffed twice in mock sorrow. "A quicker death then I would have liked, but if I hadn't acted when I did a heart attack would have claimed him instead of me. As for his successor though, from what I've seen Lord Faio hasn't made too good an impression on the people. In fact I believe most of Neverwinter doesn't seem know what he looks like. He leaves the house collapse crisis unacknowledged, does nothing while citizens are snatched away in the dead of night and he refuses to allow extra funding for the city guard in these dark times. Now why do you think that is?"

Darras was in no mood for contemplation.

"Because of you." He said finally.

"Flatterer." She crooned again, "No, it's because of her mostly." She gave a vague wave to her left as she spoke.

He looked where she was pointing but saw nothing except a darkness that covered the wall.

"Who?" He asked.

"Can't you see her? Oh sorry, I forgot you humans have pitiable vision. Well rest assured that in the distance languishes the stupidly named Fay Faio."

By way of a frightened squeak at the mention of her name, Fay introduced herself.

"Faio? That's his…"

"Daughter." Aribeth responded with a smirk, "And his wife's over on the other wall, I forget her name. Anyway, so long as Lord Faio keeps his head down and doesn't stand in my way as I bring Neverwinter to its knees, his family stays alive. If he interferes, I torture them both to death. Then reanimate them and have them kill him perhaps. I haven't decided. There are so many options."

The temptation was to swear vengeance for all the suffering she had caused, Darras could not for the life of him intimidate anyone though, and being chained to the wall didn't make him any more menacing, so he kept quiet.

"Now as I understand it, there should be one final question for you to ask of me." There was an unsettling impatience in her voice now.

"And what would that be?"

"Don't tell me you can't guess."

He was pretty sure he could, but it wasn't a question he wanted to ask.

"Figure it out quickly," Aribeth said, "Or Fay's going to be short one hand."

"Why am I here?" Darras blurted out, clawing weakly at another small opportunity to spare another's suffering and make Isania proud of him, assuming she was watching. "What do you want with me?"

Aribeth smiled that unpleasant smile of hers again and walked up to Darras. He couldn't help but twitch backwards as far as the stone wall would allow as she approached him.

She outstretched her left hand and placed it on his shoulder. The feel of her ghostly hand on Darras' flesh was akin to a branding iron with fingers. Seating heat tore through his shoulder and the scream he let out was unavoidable. His legs trembled again as his body attempted to drop down away from the hand that was causing him so much pain, the chains however held firm, and he could only wait until Aribeth withdrew it.

After about ten seconds she did so, only to place her other hand on his left cheek. The sensation was the complete opposite of the first. A biting cold tore through his face and soon his entire head was throbbing once again at the new torment it was being subjected to. His scream this time was strained, but no less heartfelt.

Once more, after ten or so seconds Aribeth withdrew her hand. The flesh on the side of his face was pale and cracked, his left eye was now bloodshot and swollen.

"You have traces of competence about you Darras. I think." She said, letting her left hand hover over his bare chest, "I might have need of such a creature as you in the days to come."

Darras summoned what saliva he could and spat at his tormentor's face. It passed straight through her and landed on the floor. Aribeth shrugged, she hadn't really thought he would cooperate too quickly and so she wasn't at all displeased to see his defiance.

Her hand slammed into his ribs and a fresh wave of unbearable heat tore through him. The flesh beneath the hand crackled and peeled away as Aribeth snaked it downwards over his abdomen.

When she pulled her arm away, Darras body fell forwards. He was struggling to breath as doing so aggravated his new wounds.

"Your Isania taught you to fight," She said, her hands resting on her hips, where Darras unfocused eyes had fallen, "but that's all she taught you. She never gave you purpose did she? Never nurtured your potential. If it were up to her you'd spend your life slaying kobolds and rescuing old women's cats from apple trees."

"What would you know?" Darras croaked. She was trying to put thoughts in his head. It wasn't going to work, he wouldn't be that easy to corrupt. He'd die first.

"I know her kind Darras," came the reply, "self righteous wanderers moving from one tiny village to the next and back again, hoping that there's some meaningless good deed that will make their God smile on them." She stopped to laugh bitterly, "as if the Gods care who stops a goblin raid or who kills a slaver or two. They're too busy with their own petty infighting to worry about us."

Darras wasn't listening. He was imagining his sword back in his hands. No, that was no good. He was imagining his hands around this foul spirit's neck. He was imagining squeezing whatever trace of life remained out of her.

The cold hand wrapped itself around his throat. He could feel his windpipe close and breathing became instantly impossible. He could only stand there, eyes bulging as the air fought to break through too tight a space.

Before he could suffocate, Aribeth cast another healing spell that repaired his throat, and made his other wounds feel slightly better. This was hardly an errand of mercy. The simple truth was that the more wounded he was, the less receptive he was.

"In my service your name would be one that all your victims would fear. You would have a legion of undead minions at your command, minions worth their salt I should add. You would pillage one town after another in my name until this pestilence stricken realm is remade according to my design."

Short of flinging yet more insults at her, something which would only cause him greater pain a few seconds earlier, Darras could think of no suitable response. Aribeth sighed and slammed the palm of her scorching hand into his stomach. The searing pain this time walked hand in hand with the sensation of being winded.

"Your self righteous nursemaid has kept the allure of power hidden from you." The voice was growing distant, it now sounded almost like it was coming from the ceiling. "There is strength in your veins that you don't even recognise. With my help you can tear down the walls of morality and weakness that you've built around your potential and grasp the power that you've earned."

It was getting harder to listen. Pain and frustration demanded more and more attention with each new wave of anguish. Why didn't she just kill him and raise him as an undead slave or whatever it was she could do? It would have to be so much easier then this.

"Soon we shall stand waist deep in the blood of Neverwinter's people. You can either do so chained to this wall, slowly starving to death, or else you can stand by my side as I begin my conquest of the entire Sword Coast." She bent down to peer into Darras' tired eyes and added 'Don't think I'll grant you a quick death if you make the wrong decision."

He hadn't really believed that she would, but he couldn't help but feel deflated at this revelation. Now what could he hope for?

He had to get free of these chains, then he needed to find a weapon, preferably his own, and kill this Aribeth woman. If she died, his and Neverwinter's problems would go away.

"What say you?"

"I say I'm not a murderer."

"Yes you are. You just lack the stomach to admit it."

"I kill disgusting creatures like you. I see nothing wrong with that."

"Tsk, name calling again are we?" She slapped him with the freezing hand. Darras reeled as if he'd been hit by a frozen crowbar. When he snapped his head back around to face her, he noticed her peering at his head like it was a wall mounted curiosity in a temple of Gond. "You hate evil don't you?"

"It's that obvious?"

"Why?"

He started to respond, then stopped. He didn't have an answer thought out for this question, but then it should have been obvious enough anyway, to anyone whose vision wasn't clouded by arrogance and spite at least.

"It's because Isania told you to isn't it?"

"If you have to ask," he started, "you'll never..."

"Oh don't give me that." Aribeth replied, rolling her eyes, "You're starting to sound like the so-called Lord of Cania. Cryptic and deluded bastard if ever there was one. He's the fellow you have to thank for the legions of demons now roaming freely across your world. He thought it would be a good idea to let the forces of evil have free reign of the Prime."

A very brief mental image of himself strangling a short fan man in a black cloak, (the best image of such a 'Lord' as he could come up with), sprung into Darras' head and vanished just as quickly as Aribeth slapped him again with the other hand.

"I'm in no hurry," she said, "so I think I'll give you two days to come to the right decision. Until then…"

With both hands she covered Darras' ears. His increasingly familiar screams echoed through the hall as the blood in one ear froze, and the flesh peeled of the other.

**To be continued**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the delay****, enthusiasm crapped out on me. Also this wasn't the easiest of chapters to write. Thanks to xjess92x for reviewing.**

**I should probably up the rating a bit, but I think I can get away with it for another chapter. **

**Chapter 6**

Darras was almost grateful to be lying down, even if it was on a cobbled stone floor. His back would doubtlessly be killing him if he could feel it. His legs were all but useless too, the strain of being forced to stand as he was subjected to the intense alternating temperatures that Aribeth had inflicted upon him had left them utterly numb. If he hadn't been barely able see them through the darkness he would have to wonder as to whether they were still there.

His arms were faring little better, a faint twitch of a finger every so often was the most he could manage. She hadn't bothered to leave him restrained as she wandered off to do whatever it was she doing. She hadn't left him with any clothes either, save for the mind sapping bracers which he'd been handed. He supposed nakedness was meant to be adding insult to injury, but in his current condition it was hard to care.

That said however, if Darras had the strength he would have gleefully torn the accused bracers to pieces. If it wasn't for them, maybe he wouldn't have blindly charged forth without a clue as to where he was going.

Or maybe he would have done the exact same thing. Who knew?

The room he'd been dragged to by a pair of zombies was far smaller then the last one. There was only a tiny sliver of moonlight coming from a hole in a wall. Presumably he'd been dumped in here so that none of Aribeth's undead minions would trip over him while she was gone.

Occasionally he'd hear Fay squeaking through the wall. Hours ago, or was it a day ago by now. He didn't know exactly how long he'd been here, but his cheery talk with the Militia man and the piss-take fight in the graveyard felt like they'd taken place years ago.

Anyway, hours ago Darras had recoiled every time he'd heard her voice. There was a girl, not to mention her mother, who needed help, but he couldn't so much as pick himself off the floor to bat feebly at their manacles with a bloodless hand.

The only positive aspect he could think of was that, if the Gods were willing to overlook the suicidally stupid manner of his death, he might just get to see Isania again soon(ish).

That idea was far more relieving then it rightfully should have been. Death was perhaps the best escape he could hope for, not just from this mad woman torturing him to the brink of death over and over again, but from the world itself. For long and desperate months he'd had to fight for each day of continued existence against beasts from the deepest levels of the hells. He'd had to watch as the fleeing citizens of Port Last were eaten alive by pit fiends as he and what few defenders the town could muster hacked away slowly at their shins. He'd seen enough horrors to ensure that six nights out of seven brought nightmares with them, and now that Isania, his mentor and closest friend was gone, the thought of persevering seemed all the more pointless. He knew she'd want him to fight till the very end, and maybe he'd done so after all. Even if he was now literally laying down and dying.

The stone door opened slowly, yet more dim light filtered through into the cell. Darras let his head fall to the sight and saw the lower half of Aribeth stroll casually into the room. She was out of her armour and instead a long flowing evening gown flowed around her ankles.

"I'm having trouble sleeping." She said simply, walking over to his side and sitting down beside him, her hands on her knees.

"Me too." He muttered feebly, turning his eyes back to the ceiling. He tried to will enough energy into his right arm to fling a punch at her head. He had none left however.

"Well you only have 38 hours left to make the right choice. I wouldn't waste too much of that sleeping if I were you, time tends to fly, whether you're having fun or not."

38 hours? That meant he'd only been here for eight. Impossible, it had to be. He could feel each of the minutes passing him by, he had to have been here at least a day, twenty hours minimum.

He tried not to show any expression at the revelation that time had slowed to a snail's pace to fit the circumstances.

"So why are _you_ having trouble sleeping?" He asked, hoping that conversation would keep her hands off him.

Aribeth glared at him with unfriendly eyes, unsure of whether to indulge her prisoner or strike him for daring to speak to her in so casual a tone. After a few seconds thought she decided to indulge him. Perhaps she'd get some clue as to whether or not his sense of duty or honour and all that horse dung was dissipating yet.

"It's too cold here." She said eventually, "sometimes I think Cania's winds cling to me even in Toril. Or perhaps I simply feel the cold more because I'm a spirit. I don't know, either way I can't sleep too well in the cold."

It was a small thing, but it was nice for Darras to know that Aribeth was suffering in some form. He almost managed a smile but it ended up being little more then a pained shift of his jaw.

"Besides," she continued, "I suppose you need me close at hand right now. Escaping from a lifetime of naivety and foolishness isn't going to be easy. You'll need my guidance."

"I don't need…" The rest degenerated into a pained gasp as his battered lungs protested against the effort of speaking.

"Yes you do Darras. Without my help you'll die as a mindless slave to your Isania's misguided ideals."

"It's better to die than…" Breathing was becoming more difficult with each word he came out with.

"Than what? Then betray all you believe in and become a fallen minion of darkness." A scathing sarcasm clung to each of her words, "The Lord of Cania did just that and now he rules one of the nine hells. Don't let your outdated sense of morals or fear of the newly impudent gods keep you from achieving true power."

More bloody rhetoric. Why did she keep going on about power? He didn't want to become master of anything, and even if he did it was doubtful he'd ever manage to in her service.

"Tell me something," She said, her voice now sounded almost friendly, "Have you ever heard of me."

"No."

"Not once? You never read that sickeningly over-romanticised book written by what's her face?" She sounded sceptical. Darras thought back as best he could and hissed in pain as he tried to shrug.

"Your name… sounds… a bit familiar." He conceded.

"I thought all of the Sword Coast knew the tale of Aribeth the Betrayer and how she devastated Neverwinter."

"My father told me Luskan had… had…" He had to give up.

"And who do you think lead their forces? Who do you think showed them every crack and hole in Neverwinter's defences?"

"_Helm_?"

That was a stupid thing to say. He didn't know why he'd done so, it just slipped out. He hoped, for what it was worth, that the Vigilant One would overlook the oversight.

That was, he supposed he'd hope when he was feeling better at least. If he ever felt better.

"We make progress." Aribeth said with a grin, "You know, at first when my Viceroy suggested that you might be of use, I dismissed you as nothing more then the average worthless doomed adventurer, soon to be eaten by wolves."

"And my… my getting stuck here has ch… changed your perception how?"

"I see something familiar in you." Aribeth replied, waving a hand back and forth over Darras' chest. "The fury and lust for vengeance flows through your veins. You want to tear apart those who killed the woman you loved. It is the same as I once felt when," she paused, a note of disgust entering her voice, "the man I was meant to marry was executed by the late Lord Nasher and all the treacherous snakes of this vile city."

"I'm nothing like you." Darras husked, wincing reflexively at the expectation of the frozen or boiling hand to impact on his skin. "Besides, the… the thing that took Isania's life is… dead. I've killed it already."

"No!" Aribeth pushed herself forward and slammed a hand down to the floor, less then two centimetres from Darras' head. "They were all we had and they are taken from us. The Gods, the world itself, they are what has taken them from us. And it is the world and the Gods that should pay. Whether the shambling masses are directly guilty or not is unimportant. They are the same as the guilty! They are only made innocent through chance. They deserve to die!"

"Earlier, you were… you were…" He stopped and inhaled two painful lungfuls of air. Aribeth sighed and began chanting the necessary incantations for a minor healing spell. Darras felt only a little better for it, he still could not move but at least breathing was easier.

"Earlier you accused Isania of brainwashing me. You'd likely try and kill her yourself if she was here. Now you're telling me I should dedicate my life to making the world suffer for her death."

"Yes," came the simple reply, "whether they were fools or not doesn't mean that we did not love them, or think that we did, it doesn't mean that they weren't stolen from us. It doesn't hurt any less."

"I think you're misinterpreting my relationship with her."

"Oh I don't take the two of you for lovers," She sounded almost embarrassed now, but that had to be a front, "though it wouldn't surprise me if you stole a glance or two while she was bathing in some secluded stream."

"I never did that." He lied.

"Of _course_."

Aribeth outstretched her legs slightly down the length of the room, bringing her head closer to Darras' current height and resting it on one hand.

"Your world is dead," she said, "you need to accept that, preferably before your deadline runs out."

"The world will be sorted out eventually." He said, "That's what normally seems to happen."

"Don't be a fool. The full forces of the nine hells and the Abyss have never been let loose upon the Prime before. One meaningless demon or devil here and there is all it has ever faced. This is a storm that cannot be weathered."

"We'll see."

"The cause of good which has kept you bound to this changing plane is what has landed you here in this dungeon. Why martyr yourself for a soon to be dead city when the rewards of joining me shall be infinite?"

Darras couldn't remember too well, but he was pretty sure she'd asked him that before. There was much of the last eight hours that was overshadowed by pain and screaming, all of which his own.

"What exactly is your _cause_?" He asked for the sake of curiosity.

"You mean after I burn Neverwinter to the ground and slaughter every man, woman and child within its walls?"

"Yes, after that."

"I shall forge a new kingdom from the ruins of the Sword Coast." She may very well have mentioned this already too, "It shall serve as a springboard to greater things. Don't think I'd be satisfied with one measly coastline to rule over for all eternity."

"That would be anticlimactic."

Aribeth stared at him again with suspicious eyes. Was that yet another sarcastic jibe or a genuine comment. She couldn't say yet, so she decided to continue.

"After the Sword Coast is mine, I cannot say for certain what will follow. But with eternity to work with…" She shrugged.

"Who'd be your subjects if you're intent on slaying all who are akin to the 'guilty'?"

"Those who can be saved of course. Starting with you, and then more who simply need taming. They would be the slaves for the mines producing iron for the smiths who would form the arms and armour of my armies."

Darras wasn't quite sure that she'd thought all this through, and she was certainly more then a little insane. If Isania had not fallen then together they would have destroyed this crazed Elvan ghost and Neverwinter might have been given the chance it needed to survive. She would be just another failed antagonist in their long body count list. But what was he without Isania looking out for him?

Aribeth parted with a short yawn and blinked a number of times.

"We'll talk more on this later." She said, "Even the dead need rest."

Sleep did sound far more appealing then anything else he'd experienced in this place. Perhaps he'd even get to see Isania or something else that was pleasant in his dreams one last time before his deadline ran out, or before Aribeth simply grew bored and decided to do away with him.

Instead of standing and moving to the door as he expected though, she swung one thin leg over his battered frame and laid herself down on top of him. Aribeth's body did not result in the same burning or freezing sensations that her hands did, but there was something unnatural about being touched by a ghost that left him shivering. He soon noticed her grinning at his increased discomfort.

Her hands she rested on the floor, either side of his head. He could feel the heat from the one side as if it were from a nearby camp fire, and from the other he could feel an unpleasant cold, as if he was standing beside an open window in a blizzard. The slightest twitch would bring him into contact with either.

"There's hardly any heat in you at all." She muttered in dissapointment, "Though I suppose that's my own fault. Anyway, goodnight." Resting her head on his chest, Aribeth closed her eyes and lay silent, her body rising and falling slightly with each of her new mattresses' panicked breaths.

Darras had to fight with every ounce of what strength he had left not to start trembling, and also to hold back the urge to urinate, which was far harder to ignore now that he was scared once again. It was hard to know which was worse; On the one hand was the fact that he was still at the mercy of this despotic creature that would have him commit massacres in her name or else kill him slowly and painfully.

On the other hand though was something else. Though he didn't want to admit it, he found it was getting far harder to care about Neverwinter, the potential wrath of the Gods, or even Isania. This was all doubtlessly a result of extreme stress and torment. Give him time to recover, he thought, and his true self would remerge.

What he tried not to consider though was how conscious he now was of Aribeth's breasts pushing into his ribs, as well as the temptation to return her quasi-embrace and whether the urge to snake his sluggish yet now movable hands down the length of her semi-transparent satin gown to her buttocks. Would that have been the case if he was feeling whole? And, save for a probably irrational survival instinct, what was stopping him?

With such thoughts playing over and over again in his mind, Darras spent the night perfectly motionless with his lifeless captor lying atop him, trying to steal his body heat.

**To be continued.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the ****delay, assorted university tasks and a lack of inspiration are to blame. Thanks to all who read the last chapter and to xjess92x and Death 12 for reviewing.**

**For the record, i'll be upping the rating in a day or two. This chapter's more M than T or whatever it is.** **I just wanted to let anyone who likes this story know that it'll soon be hidden.**

**Chapter 7**

It felt good to be back on his feet, Darras though, even if he was confined to a cell the size of a peasant's broom closet.

Aribeth had gone off to God knows where, her demon viceroy and undead minions were also nowhere to be seen. Come to think of it he hadn't seen any of them for almost a day. No great loss.

The walls were solid stone, and the bars on the door were solid despite their age. Aribeth's zombie scouts had discovered this secluded wing of the warrens recently which looked like it had once been an oubliette of sorts. Shrivelled corpses had lingered in all of the seven cells until Aribeth had had them raised and set them to work doing… something.

Escape it seemed was quite impossible. Besides, even if he did get free, he wouldn't be able to fight his way back to the surface with no weapon, and no food or sleep to speak of for the last day.

One option that had presented itself however, was a small outcropping of metal that for reasons known only to the designer of this place was sticking out of the wall. Perhaps it was there to punish the careless prisoner, perhaps not. Either way, the height and length of the sidelong stalagmite was just enough for his to slit his own throat. That seemed to be the best option, his life was over whatever he did. Though the Gods looked unfavourably upon suicide, they supposedly made concessions in extreme circumstances, like if someone gives their life for another, like he would do by refusing to yield to this Aribeth creature and her empty promises.

Knowing that however was one thing. Actually doing the deed instead of pacing back and forth like an overzealous watchman was quite another. Every second wasted made it all the more likely that this decent opportunity was going to be snatched away from him.

**Meanwhile…**

Cania had not changed. Grim faced demons still clung to the safety of the fires and tedious spirits still stumbled hither and thither with no purpose to their lives. The eighth hell was the right place for them.

A few derisive grunts and sneers from one demonic slave or another followed her footsteps, but if she stopped to kill every creature that insulted her then she'd never get anything done.

Lord Cainan's palace, or as much of it had been built yet, lay at the foot of a mountain that seemed to spiral up endlessly. No doubt the castle would do the same when it was built.

Aribeth made her way quickly towards it. A ring of elemental immunity keeping her incorporeal body from harm as she walked, though the cold was still uncomfortable. She longed for the unnatural warmth that being indoors provided in this realm.

Two pit fiends eyed her like she was the last ham slice at a banquet table as she hurriedly stepped up the seventy or so stone stairs leading up to the castle. When she got close enough however they recognised her face as belonging to their new master's 'don't eat' list, and allowed her to pass with a reluctant hint of a salute as she did so.

Inside, the plain stone walls and shiny marble floor were drowned in a dim red light from overhead lamps. So far there was little more to the fortress than a throne room, bedroom and kitchen. In said throne room, a naked female tiefling was chained to one of the pillars and was screaming quite heartily as Lord Cainan Turcotte, sat upon a shiny new obsidian throne, tore at her back with a whip.

'_Men_.'Aribeth muttered as she approached.

Upon seeing her, Cainan stood up. He did so surprisingly fast for one wearing plate mail, but that was magical enchantments and stolen demonic energies for you.

"Lady Aribeth." He said boisterously as she approached, handing the whip to a nearby Devil so he may keep the symphony of screams going, "What an unexpected delight to have you grace the halls of my piecemeal home. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Still playing the fop are you Cainan? It doesn't suit the ruler of the eight hell you know?"

The dread lord rolled his eyes and slumped back down in his seat.

"There's no cause to be snide Ari, manners don't necessarily have to go out the window with the rest of morality."

"Well you, I'm afraid, are evidence to the contrary."

"Bitter as ever. I take it your time in Neverwinter hasn't agreed with you."

"Early days, that's why I'm here actually. I'm trying to break in a new apprentice, or break a new apprentice, and I have a feeling that doing so will prove more trouble than it's worth. Mind if I borrow your knower of names for a bit?"

The guards and Cainan instantly began laughing unashamedly. The dark lord of Cania abandoning his supposed polite principles in a heartbeat by doing so.

"Is this a power play?" He finally asked, "Is that really the best attempt you can make to steal my throne from under me? I thought we had an agreement."

"We do have an agreement you paranoid snipe." Aribeth spat back, though taunting the master of hell was largely unwise, she knew that this human would blather on all day about his views on life, the universe and everything if given half a chance. It was ironic, he was a man of incredible skill and battle prowess, he had fought his way through the frozen wastes of hell to gain that by which he ensnared the Arch Devil Mephistopheles and risen to levels of power almost unimaginable. Rightfully he should have been dark, stoic and silent like so many desirable villains of old. Instead he was an insufferable prat.

"I'm not interested in your frozen kingdom, when I make my move it will be on the abyss. A myriad kingdom of twisted realms. Sounds far more fun than this… place."

Cainan stared at Aribeth for a few more moments, still unconvinced that she was telling the truth and certainly not convinced that giving her access to the most dangerous being in the Hells was a good idea. Still, as he was always telling people, he had so very few friends. He wanted to keep the ones he had in his good books, nigh impossible though it sometimes seemed.

"I'll tell you what," He said, standing again and then waiting for the latest howl of pain from the misfortunate tiefling to die down, "why not tell me the given name of this mortal you want bound to your service and I shall go ask the knower."

"Oh very well, though I am disappointed by your lack of trust after all we've been through."

"Yes, I don't doubt it. Anyway, what is the name of the person whose name you need?"

Aribeth couldn't quite keep herself from rolling her eyes.

"Darras Turcotte." As the last name left her mouth something clicked in her brain. It seemed to click in Cainan's brain too because before she knew it, his sword was drawn and pressed against her throat.

"You want to be very careful what you joke about Aribeth." He hissed, "no matter what the fate of my parents may suggest, I still hold my brother in the highest regard. It is my wish that he have a place in my new order, and anyone who stands in the way of that desire shall spend the rest of eternity regretting their folly."

_Well now, _Aribeth thought as Cainan prattled on with his amateur dramatics, _the brother of my new servant is none other than the Scourge of Cania? This can't be a coincidence._

"…Are we clear?" Cainan said finally. Aribeth looked up into his unfriendly eyes and had to fight the temptation to yawn at his display. Pompous fool though he was, the sad fact was that he was far more powerful than she, for the moment at least. To an extent she had no choice but to appease him.

"I'm not standing in the way of your dream Cainan, but don't think that your brother is going to embrace evil just because you want him too. He needs guidance, and the will to serve the forces of darkness, and the way he clings to the primitive concepts of justice and honour that he's been breastfed by his late patroness, that's something we need to force upon him with his true name."

The sword stayed in place, though Cainan wasn't quite as red with outrage anymore.

"I think you'd best tell me exactly what you've been doing with him." He said.

_Gods man, why can nothing ever be simple with you?_

"Nothing that won't prove necessary if he's going to survive in the changed material plane. Nothing he won't thank me for one day."

After yet another pointless pause, he finally lowered his weapon and dragged himself back to his throne.

"I think it would be best if you released Darras to my care. I think he'll be more comfortable in the presence of family."

"You'd think so, but no. For one thing in his current frame of mind he can only hate he who is the lord of Cania, brother or not. For another, Darras is far from ready for the hells. He needs to get to grips with the darkness in an environment more suited to him. The up and coming obliteration of Neverwinter for example."

"Perhaps you are right." He said, "Perhaps. Though I am hesitant to give his true name to one who might misuse it. I shall allow this Aribeth, so long as you live up to your word. I shall be watching, and if you abuse the trust I'm showing in you than…"

"Yes, yes, I know. I'll end up much like this tiefling here. Tell me something Cainan, does tearing the flesh from her back make her any more comely? I fail to see it personally. All that blood must make for sticky bed sheets when she's chained to…"

"Well I cauterise the wounds first." He replied, traces of his prior farcical façade of respectability returning, "What do you take me for?"

Seeing as the truthful answer to that question would likely result in violence, Aribeth kept quiet.

**Meanwhile**

Head pulled back, Darras' neck hovered next to the protruding spike. The word 'cut' replayed itself over and over again but still his head did nothing but hover and try to pull itself backwards.

He knew his situation was hopeless, and he knew he had to die, but for whatever reason he just couldn't make his body or his reflexes believe it. An overidding will to survive which had little to do with his own will kept him from ending the last dregs of his doomed existence.

He pushed himself away from the spike, and trying to feel more frustration and less relief than he did, Darras flung himself backwards onto the hard stone floor. A stabbing pain was there to greet him as his body struck the floor. He was getting used to pain though, stabbing or otherwise, and something as comparatively light as this latest example barely warranted a wince.

The spike lay above him like some inviting gift from a planetar. He doubted that a brief respite would allow him to off himself any quicker, but at the moment he could barely bring himself to stand up.

To keep his spirits up, and figuring that no one was around to hear him, Darras began to sing.

_Ready your sword with haste my friends,_

_And Ready your shield as well._

_We're going away_

_For a year and a day_

_To shatter their heads_

_And stain their lands red._

_It's time to kill at last my friends,_

_And In that we cannot fail._

_Bid thy kin farewell my friends,_

_Farewell to your homes and lands._

_Our world's gone away,_

_For a year and a day._

_We've no homesteads_

_Till our foemen lie__ dead._

_It's time to kill at last my friends,_

_And in that we cannot fail._

_Ready yourselves to die my friends,_

_And pray that Helm be kind._

_In war it's said._

_We pay with our dead,_

_For our homes and wives,_

_Shall we give our lives._

_Perhaps we'll die today my friends,_

_But never, shall we fail._

His father used to sing that song to him and his brother every night before bedtime. When he was out playing with the other children they would sing it, tree branches held to the sky and pilfered plates serving as shields as they marched on an invisible enemy.

As time moved on, all Darras wanted was to leave Hilltop behind him and see some of the world. He wanted to adventure, but more than that, he wanted to get so far away from his brother's shadow as possible, so that no one who came to know him would ever know him solely as 'Cainan's brother'.

Now he would do almost anything to go back to those early days, where his greatest worry had been explaining to his mother how yet another dinner plate had been broken. Of course Hilltop was gone, his parents had doubtlessly been butchered. Odds were that Cainan wasn't even alive anymore. The family line would come to a rather unspectacular end with him in this accursed dungeon.

"Not a bad voice for a man whose not drunk in a day." Aribeth said, appearing before the bars from wherever it was she had vanished to. Darras felt his heart sink at her return, his eyes darting quickly to the spike once more.

He stood up, and gave a reluctant grunt by way of greeting.

"How are you faring?" Aribeth asked.

"Swimmingly." Came the morose response.

"Sarcasm is it?" She said with a tsk, "Perhaps I've been too kind to you recently, it's given your insolence a chance to creep back."

"Good." Darras said, trying not to wince at the prospect of the pain he expected to follow, "I'd hate to think I was pleasing you."

Usually such a response caused some kind of unpleasant response from Aribeth, ranging from an angry glare to thermal shock. Now she just smiled. That could only be a bad sign. What was she up to?

"I've made my decision." Darras said, wondering what had taken him so long, "I'm going to die here. I'll never serve a disgusting, craven bi…"

"Frain'thrarel the Follower, I command you to serve me, your new Queen, in whatever way I see fit to command you."

Darras stared at her for a second in confusion.

"What the hells are you talking ab…" With a gasp he cut himself off. From inside he could feel something shifting and grinding within him. It felt as if his brain was turning inside out, and soon the sensation spread to his whole body. As quickly as it begun however, the feeling faded. Darras stood still as he caught his breath, then he lifted his eyes to look at Aribeth. With the song he was singing minutes before still playing in his mind, Darras found himself dropping to one knee and bowing his head.

"As you command my Queen."

**To Be Continued**


End file.
